


The Hobbit Art of Denial

by Aquila_Star



Series: Powers of Persuasion [24]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Feels, M/M, a bit o the angst, go west young hobbit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-14
Updated: 2016-05-14
Packaged: 2018-06-08 08:39:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6847480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aquila_Star/pseuds/Aquila_Star
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo heads home, happy to be on his way at last. He is. Happy, he means. Yes, he's happy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hobbit Art of Denial

The journey west was much more pleasant than the trip east. Well, it was if one considered only the speed and ease of travel. It was a great deal colder and despite wanting to start quickly as soon as possible, Bilbo had begun to have second thoughts about his decision to travel in winter.

Gandalf was good company, and the Elven Guard they'd met on the borders of Mirkwood brought them through the woods in what felt to Bilbo like record time. It hadn't been a time free of annoyances, however. As much as Bilbo was intrigued by the Elves and enjoyed their company, their fascination with him was a mite overdone. Every evening one or more would engage him in conversation, peppering him with questions about the Shire, or his travels, imploring him to share tales of his journey east. They were most insistent regarding his time in the Woodland Realm, and the impossibility of his rescue of the Dwarves from their prison. 

It was grating on his nerves, to be honest. It was worse than the beginning of his journey with the Dwarves, and unlike then, there was no Thorin to distract him from his peeves. 

He found himself thinking of Thorin often. He wondered what he was doing, how the restoration was coming along, and if the Men of Dale had indeed moved into the mountain. It would be a close, interesting winter if they did, they would have no choice but to find ways to get along, and Bilbo was certain that they'd come out of it with a better understanding of each other, and a closer bond. 

He found himself awake at night, more often than not, pondering how much more comfortable travel was when you had someone to share a bedroll with. He was irritable and ungrateful, he knew, but he couldn't help it. He was a Hobbit and he had been travelling for a very long time, away from his cozy hole under the Hill. No wonder he was on edge.

When they finally reached the western borders of the forest, they had been surprised to find the ground ahead of them covered in a dense blanket of white. The forest had been as dark and dank as ever, apparently the tightly packed tree cover had kept out all but the heaviest falls of snow. 

Bilbo was very grateful for the pony then, despite his general wariness toward the beast. It kept him from having to trudge through the snow, and increased their speed as well. In the end, scarcely a month had passed before Bilbo and Gandalf were entering Beorn's compound, the warm glow of the windows a welcome sight after slogging through the early winter snows. 

As he'd remembered, Beorn's house was warm and comforting, if a little large for Bilbo's tastes. Beorn was a great deal more welcoming than he had been on their first visit, which put Bilbo somewhat at ease. As much as he could be, anyway.

“I am surprised to see you here, little bunny,” Beorn said, his voice managing to be soft and booming at the same time. Bilbo chalked it up to the sheer size of him. “If I'd had to guess,” Beorn continued, “I would have thought you'd stay in the mountain with your Dwarf.”

“He's not my Dwarf,” Bilbo insisted, feeling distinctly uneasy. Every one seemed to be making the same assumptions about Bilbo's choices, and it was beginning to grate on him. 

“He seems to think he is,” Gandalf pointed out, earning a scowl from Bilbo.

“Yes, well,” Bilbo began, unsure of how to continue. 

“If you ever decide to go back, you are quite welcome to stop here,” Beorn told him, breaking the awkward silence. Bilbo smiled at him and gave a nod. 

“Thank you Beorn,” he said simply, turning back to his meal of warm bread and honey. 

 

* * *

 

In the end they stayed only three days in the house of Beorn. Much to Bilbo's surprise, Gandalf had prearranged for their passage over the mountains, on the back of Gwaihir, Lord of the Eagles. Bilbo was stunned and thankful, knowing that it would cut a significant amount of time off their journey. He had felt certain that they would have spent many months in Beorn's house otherwise, and he was eager to be getting home. 

Bilbo could not deny feeling a few...pangs when they were saying farewell to Beorn, leaving their mounts behind. It was hard, saying goodbye to everyone in a row, first the Dwarves, then Bard and his family, then the Elves of Mirkwood. True, he was still looking forward to seeing Elrond and his kin in Rivendell, but he had found the Woodland Elves interesting in their own way. Perhaps he was a little more patient about their constant entreaties now that the pressure had passed. 

Also, he was apprehensive about flying again. His first experience on the back of an Eagle had been sudden, traumatic and completely overwhelming. He had spent half of the flight hanging on for dear life, and the other half terrified for Thorin. Bilbo had worried that he was dying as they flew, or that the eagle carrying him in its talons would lose its grip and he would plummet to his death. 

Flying together with Gandalf proved to be much more palatable. He was much larger than Bilbo and he sat in front, breaking the wind and allowing Bilbo to breath normally the entire time. The flight over the mountains was much longer that the first flight, however, and they had been obliged to make several stops so that Gwaihir could rest his wings. It took two whole days, and by the end of it Bilbo felt very wobbly and relieved that the experience was behind him. He was happy to be on solid ground once more. For good. 

True, the sight of soaring over the mountains and forests was exhilarating, but Bilbo was not cut out to be so far above the ground. The trip had only increased his desire to be back in Bag End, safely beneath the roots of his oak tree. 

He had thanked Gwaihir effusively, however. The graciousness of the eagle had cut his travelling time by at least four months. 

After Gwaihir had once again taken to the sky, Bilbo took stock of where they were. They were on a foothill over a forest of pine, a river cutting through it, not too far off. They must be close to Rivendell, though Bilbo had no idea how close. 

“How far is it until Rivendell?” he asked Gandalf, following behind the wizard as he cut a trail through snow that was knee deep on Bilbo.

“Not far at all,” Gandalf replied. “It's fairly early in the morning now, we should be there in time for dinner.”

Bilbo smiled. “Excellent,” he said. “I am looking forward to setting my poor frozen feet in front of a warm fire.”

Gandalf huffed, no doubt well aware that Hobbit feet rarely became cold. If they could anywhere, however, it would be a place like this. It was the beginning of January, best as Bilbo could figure it, and the snows were settling over the mountains in earnest. Fortunately for Bilbo, the worst was now past. Eriador had proven to be of a fairly temperate climate, and while he was certain that they would encounter plenty of snow on their way toward it, Gandalf had assured him that they would be able to acquire new mounts in Rivendell, to decrease their travel time once more. 

The day felt longer than any other Bilbo had spent, excluding the time when Thorin was in the grip of the madness. And, perhaps, the day of the Battle of the Five Armies. At any rate, it was a long day. The snow made for uncomfortable travel, and while Gandalf had been chatty and open while they were in Mirkwood, after leaving Beorn's he became taciturn and distant. 

That was the trouble with wizards as travelling companions, Bilbo had learned. You never knew when they were going to head off somewhere else, and they were moodier than a cat with a bad attitude. He trudged along behind Gandalf, feeling lower than he had during the whole trip, lonely and wondering, not for the first time, what on earth had persuaded him to step out of his door in the first place.

Oh right. Thorin. 

The reminder did not help Bilbo's mood. Now he was lonely and he was certain that his mood would be greatly improved by an earth shattering orgasm under Thorin's hands. And that train of thought wasn't making the walking any easier. He was cold, wet, uncomfortable, lonely, hungry and horny. 

It was not the most dignified arrival,when they finally reached Rivendell. 

 

* * *

 

Fortunately Elrond was hospitality itself. He ignored their appearance and mood, and ushered them quickly into a suite, very similar to the one Bilbo had shared with Thorin the last them they were here...and didn't _that_ bring back vivid memories...but it was closer to the dining Hall and library, much to Bilbo's pleasure. 

“When Gandalf sent word of your approach, I admit, I was surprised to find you travelling back west, Bilbo Baggins,” Elrond said, and as annoyed as Bilbo was to hear yet another person express the same ridiculous surprise that Bilbo would desire to go home after his long journey, it was delivered in a kind, understanding tone of voice, and Bilbo found himself not all that resentful of it. 

“Why wouldn't I want to go home?” he asked anyway, pertinently, raising a brow at Elrond in a way he had learned after many conversations with Gandalf. Elrond himself was also quite proficient in the eyebrow lift of judgement, as Bilbo thought of it in his head, so why shouldn't he try to turn it around on them?

“I had thought you were quite...close, to Thorin Oakenshield, while you were here, though I believe you left the valley at odds?” Elrond raised his own brow right back at Bilbo, and he had to concede to the master. Elrond had the benefit of many long year of practice. 

“We did. And I was, but,” Bilbo stopped, sighing with weariness. “Despite whatever may have been assumed about our relationship, I never intended to stay in Erebor. I've said it far too many times to be patient about it, but I'll give you the benefit, Lord Elrond, as you were not in attendance for any other of the multitude of times I've had to repeat the same words during this quest, but I want to go home. Bag End calls to me, and I have family and responsibilities that I have left for far too long. Why anyone is surprised that I haven't changed my mind about these things is beyond me.”

Elrond's second brow had risen to join the first while Bilbo had been speaking, but Bilbo couldn't bring himself to worry much about it. 

“Indeed,” Elrond replied. “I'm sorry if I caused any offence, Master Baggins. I was simply curious, that is all.”

“It's quite alright,” Bilbo said, smiling in what he hoped was a friendly way. “Now if you'll excuse me, I'm very tired and in need of my bed.”

'My cold, empty, lonely bed,' he thought moodily, as he got up from the table and made his way back to his room. 

Once there, he had a very long bath, letting himself soak until he was far too hot, although the water was cooling, and his fingers and toes looked like freshly dried raisins. He pulled himself out, his body sore, but not in the way he'd become accustomed to while travelling with the Dwarves. Thorin's efforts had always added a delightful ache to his muscles, in addition to the ache of travel. 

Feeling just the one ache was...odd. He frowned as he dried himself off, his mind going back to the last bath he'd had at Rivendell, at how volatile Thorin had been that afternoon. The aftermath hadn't been his best moment, although he stood by his words. In the end, it had brought them closer together, and for that Bilbo had been grateful. 

He'd fallen into bed, muscles loose and relaxed but his mind still a mess, his thoughts dashing about and crashing into each other. It was chaos. He was eager to get home, and although Gandalf had intended to stay a week, Bilbo wondered if he could be convinced to leave a day or two early. Bilbo missed home and wanted to get there sooner rather than later. 

He missed Bag End. Yule had already passed, but there were still many days to spend cozy by the fire with a book and a cup of tea. And come spring, he would have plenty of work to do, reorganizing his garden after a year of neglect, although he was certain that Holman would have seen to the basic maintenance of it. Bilbo hoped that he had also taken a bit of extra pay from the rents, in payment for the extra work. He would make sure of it once he arrived home. 

He was able to admit to himself that he missed the Dwarves, also. Rivendell was beautiful, as always, and he had spent some time that afternoon wandering the paths of the valley city, but it seemed so quiet without the boisterous exuberance of his friends. He laid on the bed for long minutes that seemed to take forever to pass, but he could not seem to slow his mind. 

He closed his eyes and couldn't help the thought that, if Thorin were here, he would find a way to soothe Bilbo's nerves and distract his uneasy mind. But he wasn't here, so Bilbo had to distract himself. And he knew only one way to do that.

He breathed deeply, letting his hand slide down his chest, running his fingers lightly across his growing erection. His mind had a rather large store of erotic memories to choose from, so it didn't take long until he was fully erect. It was as if he could feel Thorin's big hands on him, stroking firmly across his skin, while his mouth drew blood to the surface, all over Bilbo's neck and along his collarbone. Thorin had always liked to mark him, he'd thrilled in leaving bruises on Bilbo's tender skin. 

Bilbo stroked himself slowly, but tightened his grip, remembering the firm way Thorin would hold him, when they were in a tight spot and they were pulling each other off quickly, or when he'd taken the time to spread Bilbo open, spearing him repeatedly with his thick cock while stroking Bilbo to completion at the same time. 

It didn't take much to bring Bilbo close to the edge, if he tried hard enough he could fool himself and pretend that Thorin was there, touching him eagerly, his always hot skin pressing against Bilbo's as he was held down. He opened his eyes to stare at the ceiling, half believing he would see Thorin's rugged handsomeness over him, his blue eyes dark and intense with longing and desire. 

He gasped, stroking harder now, letting his free hand trail up his chest, mimicking the feel of Thorin's fingers as he touched Bilbo until no part of him was left undiscovered. He thrust up into his fist, remembering the way Thorin had sucked him, as if the only sustenance to be had was what Bilbo had to give him. 

He came with heady force, splattering his chest and belly with white stripes of come, squeezing himself to milk the last few drops out of the tip before letting his hand fall, panting in the silence of the room as his body regained its normal breathing patterns and heart rate. 

It was a release, but somehow, it did not release him. He got up and made his way gingerly to the sink, cleaning his hands before wetting a cloth and wiping the mess off his torso. He'd hope to ease his troubled mind and relax his body, but while he felt a bit more relaxed, his mind was still going a mile a minute, wound up with memories and confusion. 

He would never get to sleep at this rate. So he pulled his clothes on, reluctantly, and left the room, heading in the direction of the library. Perhaps a book or two will help to tire his troubled mind. 

 

* * *

 

The library did help, though not a great deal. However, instead of thinking about Thorin, he found himself thinking about his other friends and what they would think of the place. There were a great many books in Westron in the Rivendell library, and even some written in Khuzdul, side by side with the seemingly endless amount of tomes in Sindarin. There were even some in languages that Bilbo could not identify. 

He thought of how eager Ori would be to see these books, and wished that he'd taken the chance to find the library on his last visit, so he could have shared with him. Balin would appreciate them a great deal, as well. He missed them both, very similar in their quiet, reserved natures, yet both shrewd observers, for all that Balin had many years of experience on Ori. He thought fondly of them, the library only serving to enhance how much he missed all his friends.

He remembered this feeling, the last time he was in Rivendell. Then, he had felt a surge of homesickness so great it had threatened to consume him. Only Thorin's ever eager sexual appetite had distracted him from it, although their argument the day before they'd left had brought it into light once more. 

By the time he'd given up finding any distraction in the library, it was very late, so he hoped he'd be able to sleep. He padded back to his room, and was pleased to find that some fine soul had left him a plate of vittles, lovely sweet buns and a pot of tea with milk and sugar. He sat by the fire with the tray on a table beside him and indulged himself in a late night snack. It seemed to work better than anything else he'd tried. 

In typical Hobbit fashion, warm feet and a full belly did more to ease his mind than all the books in the library. He may be an eccentric, oddball of a Hobbit, but he was still a Hobbit after all. Once he'd eaten his fill, he crawled in to bed once more, and this time, he fell asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow. 

 

* * *

 

They stayed in Rivendell longer than Bilbo had been hoping, though it wasn't the torture he'd fancied what he'd hit a low that first night. Elrond was gracious and extremely well read, giving Bilbo several ideas on which books he might like to read. There were quite a few others who were willing, even eager, to talk with him, and unlike the Elves of the Woodland Realm, they were more delicate in their questioning, very accepting of his tendency to babble and get off topic. They smiled fondly and let him finish, or reach a point where he knew he'd followed a thought down another rabbit hole, before directing him back to the topic with another insightful question. 

He was also greatly pleased when, upon hearing the tale of the spiders, and how Bilbo had seen fit to name his sword, the Elves had insisted that he have it inscribed, with the name and title, so that all who saw it would know of its deeds. He thought about how disappointed he'd felt when Balin had told him that his sword wasn't named, that it was not even a proper sword, so he jumped at the chance. If he ever got the opportunity, he would take great delight in showing off the new inscription, done in a beautiful curving motif that complemented the design that it already bore. 

They left nine days after they'd arrived, in mid January, on a day when the snows seemed to be fading, and the winds were in the west. 

“It's a fine day for travelling in winter,” Gandalf said as they rode up and out of the valley, having said their goodbyes over an early morning meal. “It's the best weather I could have hoped for.”

“How long do you think it will take us to get back to the Shire?” Bilbo asked.

“It's a trip of about six weeks when you're riding, but not quickly, although the weather will change that somewhat. I think it'll be about two months before we get you back to Bag End.” Gandalf replied.

“Well, that's not too bad,” Bilbo said, cheering up a bit. 

“Not bad at all. If Gwaihir had not consented to fly us over the mountain, and he was in no way obliged to do so, aside from the fact that he is a very kind and helpful sort, then it is very likely we would still have been in the House of Beorn in two months' time.”

“Well, that's very good news then. I feared we would be wintering on the eastern side of the mountains, but I am impatient to get home. It has occurred to me that Lobelia is no doubt working her wiles on anyone she can in order to get me declared dead so that she and my spineless cousin can move into my smial.”

“Oh, surely she can't have you declared dead so quickly,” Gandalf commented, and Bilbo scoffed. 

“I'm sure she would, if she could. Not many Hobbits disappear and fewer on purpose. I should have at least stopped off and had a word with Holman before I left, but I admit, I thought if I waited I would end up second guessing my decision. Again.” Bilbo shook his head, hoping that his friend and neighbour had continued on as normal while Bilbo had been gone. And that he wouldn't be too put out by Bilbo's extended absence. 

“Well, I'm sure you'll get it all sorted out before too long, if there is a problem.” Gandalf said. 

“I'm sure I will. And if she gives me any trouble, well...that's what Sting is for,” Bilbo said with a cunning grin, noticing Gandalf's disapproving look. “Oh, just to scare her, honestly Gandalf, what do you take me for?”

Gandalf looked at him for another moment before breaking the silence with an amused chuckle. 

“I take you for a Hobbit that has changed a very great deal, since he ran out his door last April.”

“You did tell me I would not be the same if I returned home,” Bilbo said, his amusement faded as he pondered the truth of Gandalf's words. Many things had changed, and Bilbo was definitely one of them.

“I did indeed,” Gandalf said, smiling at Bilbo from atop his horse. “And you have changed. Very much, and for the better,” he added, to Bilbo's delight. 

The rest of the trip went quite smoothly, although they did find themselves stuck in Bree for 3 days, while a fresh dump of snow piled up in drifts outside the Prancing Pony. Bilbo had spent them in very restless spirits, being so very close to home but so unable to make his way there. He'd also been hit by another surge of...well, he would have called it homesickness, but since he was almost home, he wasn't sure that was the right term. 

It was more like...friend sickness. He wasn't missing home, now that he was so near to it. He was, however, missing his friends with a fresh ache that surprised him with its force. They hadn't stopped in Bree on the way east, so he didn't even have memories of the Dwarves there to haunt him. 

And yet, haunt him they did. The Prancing Pony was just their kind of place. The bulk of the company would have loved the ale, the food, the cheery, boisterous atmosphere. They seemed to bring that atmosphere where ever they went, anyway. Bilbo smiled, sipping his ale, not because it was his preferred drink, but because it brought back memories of his Dwarves. He spent the short days in Bree in a gloomy melancholy that only broke when the weather did. 

He parted with Gandalf two days later, after they had crossed the Brandywine and were nearing the West Farthing. Gandalf left him on the same path on which he'd caught up to the Company, all those months ago. 

“It is here, I must leave you,” Gandalf said, once they had dismounted. “You are less than a day from Bag End, and I daresay you know the way yourself.”

“Yes, I do. Thank you Gandalf.”

“Before I go, I want you to listen to one last piece of advise, if you would,” Gandalf said, as mysterious as always. “There are many magic rings in this world, Bilbo Baggins, and none of them are to be taken lightly.”

Bilbo's face showed his surprise, no doubt, though he tried to hide it by denying Gandalf's claim. 

“Don't take me for a fool, Bilbo. I know you found one in the Goblin Tunnels, and I've kept a close eye on you, ever since.”

“Well, thank goodness,” Bilbo said at last, admitting that he had the Ring, however passively. “I have much appreciated your help and friendship.”

“And I yours,” Gandalf replied. 

“Farewell, Gandalf,” he said, sharing a smile with the wizard who had become his great friend. 

“Farewell indeed, Bilbo.” Gandalf winked at him, before turning and heading back to his horse and the pony, while Bilbo turned at last, to the paths that led to home.

 

* * * 

 

There was no snow on the paths of the Shire in March, the weather was temperate enough that the heavy snows came only in the deepest parts of winter, and here, spring had already taken hold, spreading new life and colour across the meadows and hills. 

Bilbo's heart surged with happiness as he walked up the paths that wound between houses, small chimneys piping out the smoke of the cook fires within. It was almost dinner time, and the smells on the Hill were making Bilbo's mouth water. He felt a pang of frustration, knowing that his pantry was empty, that it had been when he'd left, and if there was anything there, it was no doubt long spoiled. 

“Master Baggins!” a voice called to him, with excitement and alarm. “Bilbo!”

He looked up, realising suddenly that he was steps away from home, his bright green door visible, so very close. He noticed that there was smoke rising from Bag End, but he didn't have time to ponder that development as he was soon apprehended by Holman Greenhand, a face he was very pleased to see.

“Holman!” he called back, stopping off at the gate of number three, Bagshot Row, smiling widely as he greeted his friend.

“Master Bilbo, I'm so very glad to see you looking so well! Why, all the Hobbits this side of the Brandywine were sure you were dead!” Holman exclaimed, his face showing his surprise and gladness.

Bilbo laughed, clasping him on the shoulder. “Reports of my death have been grossly exaggerated,” he said, shaking his head. “I am very much alive, although perhaps the Brandybucks knew better, as, until yesterday, I was in fact on their side of the Brandywine.”

“Oh, but I'm sure we'd have heard if you were merely in Buckland,” Holman said with a furrowed brow. 

“I wasn't in Buckland,” Bilbo told him.

“Then where? You've been gone for eleven months! Just one more, and you would have been presumed dead, officially”

“I travelled a great deal further to the east, Holman. It's a story I'd dearly love to tell, but now is not the time, I'm afraid.” Bilbo hitched his pack up a little more on his shoulder, still clutching the little chest of gold with the other arm. 

“Oh, indeed not, it's getting on to dinner time. Hamfast will be back soon, no doubt, he's just been off buying some pastries for our desert. Would you like to stay for dinner, Master Bilbo?”

Bilbo shook his head. “Perhaps another time, Holman. I feel almost desperate to get home, and I have supplies in my pack, so I won't go hungry tonight. I can have the pantry restocked tomorrow, and then I'd be better to invite you and Ham to dinner.”

“Restocked...but, your pantry is no doubt in very fine shape right now, what with your cousin staying these last few days.”

Bilbo stilled, remembering the smoke rising from his chimney, panic rushing over him. She wouldn't have, would she?

“My cousin? Which cousin?” he asked, though he could not bear to wait for the answer. “Please, for the love of Mahal, tell me it's not Otho and the wretched Lobelia.”

“Oh, no Master Bilbo, sir,” Holman said, looking horrified. “I would never let her inside Bag End, not if my life depended on it. Why, she'd make out with your mother's silverware and jolly knows what else!”

“Thank goodness,” Bilbo said, relieved. “Which cousin, then?”

“Oh, Master Drogo, of course, Master Bilbo,” Holman replied eager. “I hope you don't mind, he had a key and I know that you get on fine with the lad...he's of age now, did you know? Anyway, he's been up a few times over the last year you've been gone Master Bilbo. He's kept a small pantry, and has been most helpful in collecting the rents and storing it all away. I hope I haven't done wrong by letting him stay,” Holman looked nervous, as if Bilbo would be displeased to hear who was in Bag End. To the contrary, he was thrilled. Drogo was his favourite cousin, second cousin if you wanted to get technical, which most Hobbits liked to when it involved genealogy.

“No, not at all!” Bilbo said. “Drogo is most welcome...he does have a key, for the simple reason that I trust him. But, he doesn't live in Hobbiton, why is he here?” 

“Ahh, that is another tale,” Holman replied, leaning on the fence. “Young Miss Primula has been visiting some family for the last few weeks, and best I could figure it, Master Drogo did not want to spend much time apart from her.”

“Have they finally decided to make it official? I believe she is of age now as well?”

“Yes, they have,” Holman said, his face split with a bright grin. “They will be married on Midsummer's Day, along with a great many others.”

“It is a fine day for a wedding,” Bilbo agreed, his heart lightening more the longer he talked to Holman. He always had all the gossip, the old chatterbox. “And on that note, I think I'll make my way up the Hill. I'll bet Drogo has dinner ready by now, if I know him at all, and I'm rather peckish myself. Come up for tea tomorrow, if you would, Holman. It's been a long time.”

“Indeed it has, Master Bilbo, indeed it has. I will see you tomorrow.”

Bilbo gave a wave, his smile not fading as he walked up the Hill, feeling much more energetic now that he knew he wouldn’t be having lembas for dinner. Again.

He pulled open his gate quickly and padded up the steps without hesitation, but when he was facing his round, green door at last, he stopped. This was it. He was finally home. He felt happy, very much so, but there was also a roiling in his stomach, and all he could think was that there were certainly no Dwarves inside. The thought made tears burn his eyes, although he didn't let them fall. 

He was happy to be home. He was.

He pushed the door open, hearing the rattle of dishes in the kitchen, no doubt Drogo had dropped something in his surprise. He would not have been expecting the door to open without himself on the other side. Bilbo stepped in, the familiar sight of Bag End filling him up with contentment. The smell on the air spoke of supper, and he turned, spying his cousin from across the sitting room.

“Bilbo!” came the cry, Drogo's face etched with disbelief and joy. “You're back!”

“Hello Drogo,” Bilbo said, dropping his things right there on the floor of the entryway. “Have you made enough dinner for two?”

**Author's Note:**

> I have not had to tweak Drogo's age, as he was 33 in 2941. I have, however, tweaked the age of Primula, cause I wanted them to be married, awww. On another note, Hamfast Gamgee is too young to be the gardener here, and as we know he 'took up with his Cousin Holman, the gardener in Hobbiton', I figured, why not be a little more on the side of accurate. 
> 
> This one came pretty quick, surprisingly. And I have most of the next written, but on paper. We'll see how fast I get it done, as I'll be gone all day tomorrow. Darn real life, getting in the way of my fic...


End file.
